by C. E. Smith
He relaxed a little and let out a breath. "That’s what you’re worried about?"
I blinked. "Aren’t you?"
"No. Not at all. Haven’t you noticed that whatever this is only happens around me?"
Throwing up my hands, I said, "That’s exactly what I’m worried about. You’re always around when it happens. What if you get hit by it when I’m trying to protect you?"
Ryker laughed. "Like it did in the tunnel? When it knocked all those guys back and knocked me out of the way? Or earlier when it was pushing people away from us? I felt it consuming me when I had your hand and it felt right. Whatever this is, I’m not sold that it’s necessarily a bad thing, and I don’t think for a second that it’s going to hurt me."
I wasn’t convinced as my anxiety took hold. "But what if you’re wrong? What if—“
"What if this building collapses right here and now, and we both fall and die? Love, we can’t live for the what ifs. That’s not living. You really want to miss out on us because of something that very likely won’t happen?"
My head was spinning. I stood and crossed my arms, hugging my body. Walking over to the desk, I tried to rationalize in my head that the best thing to do for Ryker would be to leave him, but it was as if the very core of my being couldn’t handle the thought.
You’re too weak to do the right thing.
Who cares about your happiness?
What about his life?
If you can’t handle life without him, why don’t you just end it to save him?
My stomach was churning, and I felt sick.
"Hey," he said, placing his cool palm against my cheek. His other arm wrapped protectively around me and pulled me closer to him. Shivers ran through my whole being as I felt the heat of his body through my clothes.
I didn’t look at him. "You would be better off if I was gone," I whispered.
He squeezed me tighter. "Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you dare." His voice was low in my ear. "I couldn’t live without you. That’s not an option. Do you know how much it scares me when I think of losing you? I would give up everything if I lost you. I would shut down until I couldn’t bear the pain anymore, and then I would end it. I can’t survive in a world without my heart."
A mix of relief and exhaustion hit me like a crashing wave, and my knees buckled beneath me.
Ryker laughed under his breath and scooped me up. As he crossed to the torn sofa with me in his arms, he said "I’m surprised it took as long as it did for the exhaustion to come. It’s always hit you sooner than this after one of your episodes." He sat with me in his arms so that I was in his lap.
I studied his muscled arms and saw that most of the blood was gone. He'd also pulled the bandage off of the cut he'd made to pay into the fight. "You actually found water?"
He reached for the cup I had forgotten about that he had placed on the ground. "Here, drink this," he said before putting it to my lips.
Frowning at him, I asked, "Is it safe? How long has it been here?"
"There was one of those old water coolers in there and a couple bottles that hadn’t even been opened. They had dust all over them, but the water is fine. Just drink, you need it."
I sipped the water from the cup before realizing how thirsty I really was. Taking it from his hand, I downed its contents. "I wish this didn’t drain me so much. I feel helpless afterwards."
Ryker brushed the hair out of my face. "Well we’re safe here so sleep for a bit. We’ll try and make our way home later. We’ll have to stay Topside for a while until we get closer to our end. Less chance of being seen by someone who was there this morning that way."
"Great," I said. "More hiding out in the apartment."
Ryker sighed. "I know, but just until I can get a read on things. Most of those people don’t venture too far south so we should be okay. I just don’t want to take any unnecessary risks."
I yawned. "I know."
Ryker shifted and put his feet up on the couch so that he was laying behind me. He never loosened his grip around me though, and I silently thanked God for it. He was so good at holding all of my shattered pieces together when I needed him to.
"I love you," I whispered.
"To eternity and back," he replied. "Until the end of Heaven itself."
I smiled at the words. In another life, I think he could’ve been a poet. He always said the most incredible things, and I wondered for the thousandth time how the Hell I'd gotten so lucky.
10
T he dusty wooden floor decided to claim me in my sleep. It woke me with a thud and sent sparks through my elbow. As my eyes flew open, I heard Ryker’s voice, and he was clearly agitated. I could feel him thrashing on the sofa above me, and I blinked to clear the sleep from my eyes. My hand found his arm, and it was slick with sweat. His eyes were still closed, and his face was contorted in agony.
Awesome. He’d booted me off the couch in his sleep.
Quickly I got to my knees, and hovered next to him, my hands on his face. "Ryker, hey, wake up. Ryker, please."
At the sound of my voice, his tense muscles relaxed just a fraction, and his eyes creeped open. For just a second he reached up and grabbed my throat, clearly shocked at whatever had been going on in his head.
He squeezed, and I croaked out, "Ryker! It’s me!"
His eyes went wide with realization, and he recoiled away from me, dropping his hand. "Shit, I’m sorry! Are you alright?" His voice sounded terrified.
"I’m okay, you were dreaming." I rubbed my throat, thankful he’d snapped out of it when he did.
Ryker reached out a hand to touch my face but stopped short. "I’m so sorry," he whispered, his face troubled.
I grabbed his hand and pressed it to my cheek. "It’s okay, you didn’t mean to. You didn’t know it was me. Are you okay? That was some nightmare."
He let out a sigh and shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "I hate this," he groaned.
Ryker’s feet were still up on the couch, so I got up and crammed my body on it in front of him.
"How are you so good to me?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"What do you mean?"
"I just tried to strangle you, and here you are comforting me. I don’t deserve you."
I took his hand in both of mine and brought it to my lips. "Stop it. We’re absolutely perfect for each other, dork."
He cautioned a small smile. "I don’t want anyone to ever hurt you, let alone that someone be me."
"Shh. You didn’t mean to, okay? Do you want to tell me what you were dreaming about?"
His brow furrowed, and he bit his bottom lip. It would be almost adorable if he wasn’t hurting so much. "I don’t want you to think I’m a monster," he whispered, and then laughed bitterly. "I’m surprised you don’t already after this morning."
I made him look at me. "I would never think you’re a monster."
He sighed again. "I don’t think I can tell you everything, not yet, but I will over time. I haven’t fought in the Pits for several months. It’s not exactly something I enjoy doing." He took a breath. "But I used to fight often, too often. My father put me in my first fight when I was fourteen."
I gasped. "You’re kidding!"
Ryker shook his head. "I wish I was, believe me. He told me that it would either make a man out of me, or I would die, simple as that. Since I was younger I was matched up with someone only a few years older than I was and that was a weaker opponent in general. My father told them to match me with someone stronger, someone better, but they wouldn’t do it. The people that run the Pits are sick, but even they’re not that twisted. So I faced this seventeen year old boy that was a good six inches taller than me. Nobody expected anything from the fight, so there weren’t even that many people there watching. But that was the first time I ever killed someone." He paused for a moment, and pain from the memories was etched into every line on his face.
"I’m so sorry," I whispered.
"You can’t even begin to imagine the Hell I we
nt through after that. My father saw a warrior in me that day. I should’ve died, I should’ve lost that fight, but I didn’t. I beat him in under a minute. I was terrified and shaking when it was over, but self-preservation had kicked in. My father couldn’t believe it. So he started training me, and entering me in fights regularly. Each fight he entered me in, he would bet souls on me that I would win. Each fight I won, and with every win he collected more souls. When I turned eighteen, legally, if you could call any of this legal, the souls that I won in the fights went to me, so all he was left with was souls that he won betting on me. It wasn’t enough for him, though. He wanted more. He had become greedy, and he used his collection to coerce people into doing things for him. Truly, my father is a monster, and I always swore I’d never become like him."
I stared at the ghosts in his eyes. "You’re nothing like him."
"I'm not so sure," he said. Before I could say anything he continued, "I’ve fought two hundred and twenty-seven times. And he wasn’t behind all of them. After I turned eighteen I decided I was going to get away from him, so I started fighting more without his knowledge to make some money. It didn’t take long though before he found out. He beat the shit out of me for it, until I finally realized that he couldn’t hurt me anymore unless I let him. I turned the tables on him, and it was the first time he ever feared me. I left after that. All I knew how to do was fight though, so I kept on for about two years until I met Stella. She helped me go mostly straight, got me a job cleaning up at the tattoo studio, and I learned how to do tattoos there. So I’ve been doing that ever since, but have still fought some over the years. If I needed some extra cash or if someone I knew got in trouble like Zak did, I would fight. It’s been four months since my last though. I don’t want that to be a part of me anymore unless I absolutely have to in order to save someone I know. But every time I’ve ever fought I’ve had nightmares about it for a while after."
I took a moment to process what he just said to me. "Well," I said, "You help me fight my nightmares, so I’ll help you fight yours."
Ryker sat up and rested his forearms on his knees. "Out of two hundred and twenty-seven fights, I’ve killed a hundred and eighty-one people, some of which were women. And how many of the other forty-six died later while I had their souls?" He turned his head sideways and looked back at me. "Now tell me I’m not a monster like him."
The impact of that hit me like a knife to the gut. So many people.
"Not that it makes it any better, but the majority of those were scum of the earth that would slit your throat in a dark tunnel just to watch you bleed to death. But not all of them were."
I stood up and turned my back to him.
"This isn’t something I exactly wanted you to find out. I mean, I’m not stupid, I figured you would one day, but some part of me hoped that just maybe you wouldn’t have to know."
A cold hand was squeezing my heart, and my breathing was shallow. "I need a minute," I said, and walked out the door.
My feet coaxed the catwalk into conversation with every step as I walked away from the room. How would I wrap my head around this? He’d killed so many people.
One hundred and eighty-one.
How does he not lose his mind?
Is he a monster?
Is he too much like his father?
I exhaled.
No, he’s not like his father. He has a good heart. I’ve seen it.
But the way he looked this morning with that knife in Asher’s ribcage…
He was terrifying.
I needed air, or I was going to suffocate.
Walking down the stairs, I went back to the window we’d climbed through, and hauled my body over the broken glass. My hand slipped and a gash appeared across my palm.
"Shit," I muttered. My clothes were covered with dust from inside so I reached under my shirt to press my hand to the slightly cleaner side of the fabric.
The sting was welcoming, though. It gave me a momentary reprieve from processing Ryker’s past. I was thoroughly convinced that I was just one big walking accident. For as long as I could remember, I’d always been clumsy, but lately it had been ridiculous.
We should probably get home so I can take care of this, and we can get cleaned up.
The thought "we" stung worse than my hand though. Did this really change everything? I loved Ryker, I really did, but would this be something I could live with?
I had started walking without realizing it. My scuffed boots were carrying me south again, and I knew I needed to get back to the Circle pretty quick in case Jophiel’s surveillance team was in the area. Dropping down near the Pits wouldn’t be wise though, because I knew I didn’t stand a chance of not being recognized there. Instead, I just kept going south for a bit. I knew I would probably find a MARTA station before too long, and as long as I stayed close to buildings I was somewhat concealed.
As I walked, I had to deal with a battle inside my head. Part of me wanted to turn around and run back to Ryker, telling him that everything would be okay and that we’d get past it all. The other part of me was attempting to convince myself to stay far away from him, that he was dangerous and couldn’t be any good. That part was weaker though and quickly losing ground.
I walked and walked and walked. My body felt weak and drained. It took me awhile to get my energy level back up after one of my episodes, and I only hoped that would get easier with time. I knew I still had a good ways to go to get home, but then the realization that "home" meant Ryker hit me. Going home wasn’t an option just yet. I still needed to sort through all that he had told me and figure out how to handle it.
After pushing the thought of my new home aside in my mind, I remembered my first home.
Mother.
How on earth had I let myself completely forget about her? Tears welled up in my eyes, and I rubbed them away furiously with the back of my hand.
What the Hell had Jophiel done to her?
It wouldn’t take me too terribly long to get to that home, and now I was desperate to know what became of my mother.
The thought gave me a rush of adrenaline, and I felt more energized than before. I almost felt like running, but figured I’d better take it easy still.
What if Jophiel had surveillance on the house?
I was feeling reckless though. Realizing I didn’t care and had to know how my mother was doing, I changed course and headed in that direction.
It didn’t take too long for me to get there once I found the right bus, and I stuck close to the trees behind, all of the houses to stay concealed. I scanned the area, searching for an Essence Project van or any other signs of Project soldiers. The street was quiet, and I saw nothing that gave me any cause for alarm. Still, I hurried to the back door as stealthily as I could, and found it unlocked. I silently slipped inside and closed the door behind me.
The house was eerily quiet, and it unnerved me. Nothing in the kitchen was out of place as I crept to the living room. I could see down the hallway that the light under my mother’s door was on.
She must be in her room.
Anxiety was dripping down my spine like cold water. I wasn’t certain that Jophiel hadn’t put any cameras or anything in the house, and my sense of hearing was heightened, waiting to detect screeching tires heading toward me.
I inhaled as I reached for the doorknob to my mother’s room. The brass was cold under my hand as I pushed the door open. As soon as I saw my mother, I exhaled, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. She heard me and gasped. Kneeling next to her bed, hands clasped in prayer, was my mother looking terrified. I could still see faint bruising on her cheek that she had tried unsuccessfully to cover with makeup.
"What are you doing here?" she choked out.
I took several steps into the room, and she retreated from me, clutching her nightstand.
"How dare you come back here?" she demanded, finding her voice.
I was taken aback. "What do you mean?"
"You’ve caused me so much grief
. Have you come back to cause me more?"
Shaking my head, I was lost for words. We stared at each other for a moment before I could speak. "I came to make sure you were alright. I saw those men here looking for me. I wanted to know that you were okay."
She stood up, shaking, and took a step towards me, a finger pointed accusingly in my direction. "Yes, those men were here looking for you. They beat me and tore apart the house looking for you. This is all your fault."
"But I—"
"Don’t interrupt me! You may be dead to me, but you will show me respect in my own house."
I faltered, whispering. "Wh—what did you say?"
How could she say that? I was her daughter.
She took another step towards me. "Your whole life you have been a problem. Why do you think your father left?"
Her words were like a sucker punch to the gut.
I blinked. "He didn’t leave, he’s dead."
She laughed once. "He nearly drank himself to death, wandered outside and got hit by a car. Because of you. And I have had to look at your face and be reminded of that for years." She was still trembling, but this time it was fueled by anger.
Tears blurred my vision again. I couldn’t breathe, and my chest ached.
"And look at you now. Look at your hair, and your makeup. If you want to go and be one of the devil’s little playthings you certainly won’t do it anywhere near me!"
I couldn’t keep the tears from falling now. Hurt and anger twisted in my stomach. I’d never been good enough for her, and now I knew I never would be. "Mother…"
"Don’t ‘mother’ me. It will be far too soon before I never see you again. I’m glad they’re going to cart you off to try and gain something good from your miserable existence."
It was a slap in the face and ice stabbing through my veins all at once. I was certain she could see the reaction her words had written all over my face, because for the first time since seeing me, she smiled. It was a cold, wicked smile of satisfaction. She held up the hand that she had supported herself with on her nightstand and uncurled her fingers. In it was a black plastic square with a gray button in the middle. Tossing it on the carpet in front of me, she took another step forward so there were only inches between us.